Darkness in our Hearts
by Kaiakara
Summary: Valjean and Javert discover, after a night of almost accidental relationships, that they perhaps care for each other more than they thought they did. Appearances based off of friends who played the parts in a show at a theatre. WARNING: ADULT SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Jean Valjean hummed quietly to himself as he ate his dinner at a small wayside inn, staring off into the shadows. Cosette had already been safely tucked into her covers and was asleep, so he was enjoying a quiet, late dinner. There was nobody else up except the innkeeper, and even the man was dozing at his counter.

The front door blew open, snow barreling in fast enough to form miniature drifts. A tall man was standing in the doorway, having been blown in by the blizzard. Valjean groaned. He knew that man. "Javert," he called, raising the mug of warm barley beer he had, "Come in from that blizzard and have a mug of beer with me. You are frozen from the cold." The police officer plunked himself down into the chair beside the ex-convict, glowering out from under blonde brows, his dark skin glowing red from wind-chafing.

"What makes you think I wish to share a mug of beer with you, 24601?" Valjean sighed and almost rolled his eyes. Of course Javert would refuse to let go of their two-decade rivalry for a night.

"For gods sake, Javert. You were just caught in the middle of a blizzard. For one night let go of whatever grudges we have so you don't freeze to death." Javert hesitated, and Valjean could see the glow in his eyes as he eyed the beer. He had to be freezing after tramping after the convict all the way through that blizzard. "And tomorrow, you may arrest me. But I do not wish to wake up tomorrow and find that I am being arrested by a dead man." Valjean almost wanted to snicker at his own joke, brown eyes glowing with humor, but all Javert did was scowl and bundle himself tighter into his snow-drift of a coat.

"This one night, Valjean. Simply because I want to be alive to arrest you tomorrow." Valjean chuckled, and pushed over the mug of beer he had recently been drinking from, and Javert downed it in only one gulp. Valjean was glad that he had taken a table next to the fire, because a mug of warm beer simply would not do it when it came to a blizzard-chilled inspector. Javert glowered up at his enemy from under blonde brows, and then sat up into his usual perfect poise, back straight and head up. Valjean was small and stocky with mussed silvering-brown hair and brown eyes that were warmer than the fire even to his enemy, and in comparison Javert was tall and muscled like a cat, his blonde hair and dark skin windblown. His green eyes were unreadable. Valjean placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, his brown hair sparkling in the firelight. The gray strands were clearly visible. After ten years chasing each other, Javert was in his late thirties or early forties and Valjean was about fifty. He didn't remember his own birthday anymore, so he usually just judged off of how long he had been running from people. Or in jail. "What are you looking at?" Javert grumbled, shrugging back into his coat and glowering, lips downturned into a frown. "I am not your friend. I am the man who will arrest you when he isn't nearly frozen."

Valjean sighed and shook his head, shoulders slumping slightly. He waved a hand. "Javert, I am just thinking back. We have known each other for twenty nine years now, and the two of us sitting across a table during a blizzard is familiar somehow."

"Six years ago." Javert said softly, placing his hands on the table and leaning over enough that he and Valjean were on somewhat of the same level. "Near Marsielles, remember? You were caught in a snowstorm, and happened to stumble upon where I had ensconced myself in an inn." Valjean chuckled.

"I remember now. I had promised you that you would arrest me in the morning, and when the morning came, I was long gone." Even Javert smirked slightly at that, but grabbed the ex-convict's hand and pulled him close until they were nose to nose.

"That will not happen again." He said softly, voice grating in his throat. Valjean pulled his hand back and relaxed against the table.

"Tomorrow, Javert. I promise that you may arrest me tomorrow, when we are both adequately unfrozen." They fell silent then, the inspector playing listlessly with a sou until he called the inkeeper, ordering himself a hot tea. He shrugged out of the greatcoat, and Valjean remained his companion, the two men sitting at the table.

"Get to bed, Javert." Valjean finally said, staring up at the woodwork of the ceiling. "You should be adequately rested to arrest me tomorrow morning. Wouldn't want anything to go wrong, now would you?" Javert grunted, stood up, and grabbed Valjean's arm. He started to drag the older man upstairs, flipping a franc onto the inkeeper's counter.

"One room." He grunted, and then dragged Valjean up the stairs, the older man flailing and expressing extreme distaste at being dragged by his captor.

"Javert--!" he flailed. "Let me go!" Javert ignored him, and hoisted the smaller man over his shoulder, and dumped him on the floor as soon as they reached the room he had rented. The door was locked in seconds, and Javert pocketed the key, leaving Valjean to surge to his feet and try to open the door fruitlessly. "Javert, let me out!" He yelled, turning on the younger man with anger deep-set in his brown eyes. "I have a child to take care of, you cannot just--" Javert cut him off by turning back around, hat in hand. The snow that had until recently been covering his hair had melted, leaving the gray-streaked blonde to shimmer with water. His eyes were hard.

"She can, I am sure, handle herself for the last night she would have with you." Valjean once more tired the door, growling unhappily and tugging on the knob. He knew that he could force his way out, being the stronger of the two of them, but doing so would be of extreme insult to the inkeeper. So he was stuck. Grunting his annoyance, Valjean slid to the floor, sure in himself that he would be spending the night there.

Which was, until a jacket-less Javert came over, swinging his handcuffs. "No way you are getting away from me tonight, Valjean." He said, and grabbed the older man's wrist, wrenching him from the floor as they were cuffed together. Valjean stumbled, yelped, and found his footing, scrambling after Javert and fighting uselessly at the cuffs. He had ben stuck to Javert like this before, and it had never once been comfortable. But in this case, it meant they would have to share a bed. And Valjean did not like the idea of that. But, he was stuck to the inspector, and there was nothing he could do about it.

For a moment the two men stood there, embarrassed, and they each realized that they were still almost fully dressed.

"Shoes." Valjean said, and at the same time they knelt and pulled off the offending items. It went that way until both men were in their shirtsleeves, and Javert pointed to the bed.

"No funny business, 24601." He only called Valjean that when he was stressed now. They had known each other far too long. They were in no condition friends, but they could (occasionally) speak in level tones. Valjean muttered to himself _why would I want to do any funny business_ and crammed himself onto one side of the bed, the closest to the window. The inspector lay down, and they were left back to back, cuffed hands getting in the way. Grunting, Javert huddled more into the covers, and licked his fingers, the candle hissing as he put it out.

They lay in silence, unmoving, both too embarrassed by their current situation to say anything. Time passed, and the snow that Valjean was watching out the window began to abate some. However, neither was asleep.

Grunt. "Valjean."

"What, Javert."

"Move your hand."

"No. You cuffed us together, you can deal with the uncomfortable problems that would clearly arise." Valjean felt a shifting in the bed, and then found himself pinned down by the rather impressive bulk of Inspector Javert, his hair spilling over his shoulders. For a moment, he had the oddest urge to run his hands through that mane of hair, to pull down the Inspector--

but he pushed it away.

"Javert, get off me." Valjean said slowly, starting to wiggle from under the Inspector. But, it was hopeless. He may have been the stronger of the two by far, but he still was smaller. Javert was a huge man, and Valjean had no hope of getting out from under him.

"I would prefer that if you and I are to remain cuffed together--which we are--that you at least comply in the simple act of making this more comfortable for us?" Valjean sighed.

"Fine." Javert moved off of him again, and they once more settled into silence, staring in their respective directions silently. And still sleep would not come.

"Javert?"

"What, Valjean?"

"Do you honestly have any reason to follow me anymore?" Silence greeted the question, and Valjean looked over his shoulder to see glittering shards of gray-green staring back at him, questions in the depths. Neither said anything, until at last the niggling thought in the back of Valjean's mind was impossible to quell. Inching his body over to be facing the Inspector, the older man slowly reached out a hand and tangled it in the hair at the back of Javert's neck, just above the ribbon, and pulled the other man into a kiss.

Needless to say, the reaction was immediate and extreme.

Javert shoved Valjean back, spitting fire, yelping curses left and right. He remembered too late that the two men were connected and the 'shoving' method backfired, pushing them back together on the whiplash and their lips connected once again. This time, Valjean was ready, and grabbed Javert's wrists when the Inspector attempted to break the kiss. It was inexpert, yes, but Valjean knew what he wanted. His lips manipulated the other man's, until at last a groan was wrenched from Javert's throat, the deep noise sending shivers down his spine. Slowly, oh so slowly, Javert's hand came up and tangled in Valjean's gray-streaked brown hair, clutching at the back of his neck. He arched upward, lips pressing needily into the convict's.

The broke apart for breath, brown and gray-green eyes locking for a moment over heaving chests and disturbed hair. Neither man said anything, but Valjean started to undo the tie in the Inspector's hair, the blonde locks pooling on the pillow. He started to lean down when he felt the press of a hand against his chest, and stopped.

Javert was silent. The look in his eyes was more than enough, but Valjean had to ask. He reached up one scarred palm and took the Inspector's face in his hand, cradling it, feeling the press of his sideburns against his palm. The convict could feel emotions reeling inside him. There were so many things he wanted to say, wanted to do.

Finally, Javert spoke.

"24601, what in the hell do you are doing?" Valjean sighed softly. Trust Javert to ruin the moment. "Get off me now." He wrestled hopelessly against the man on to of him, but Valjean used his superior strength to pin him to the bed. Two could play at that game. He was getting his way for once, and damn Javert if he tried to stop it.

"Kissing you." Was Valjean's blunt reply, and a sour expression was what the Inspector gave him back.

"We are both men. Get off of me, Valjean."

"No."

"I'm arresting you in the morning. Things are complicated enough as it is without you kissing me."

"No."

"I'm not arresting you?" Javert was confused.

"No," Valjean said slowly, "I'm kissing you." And with that he leaned back down and took the other man's lips once more, and this time Javert had little he could do to fight back. He was trapped--and although he was beyond loathe to admit it--he actually liked the kissing. Neither man had been given much time for relationships, but what limited knowledge they had was mostly Valjean's. Which was why _he _was the one kissing _Javert._ The tables quickly turned, though, and Valjean found himself pinned down with a sudden reverse of position, Javert kissing him for all he was worth, enjoying the feeling of the convict's beard on his face.

And Valjean liked it.

Arching his back with a soft groan against the other man, Valjean wrapped his arms around the Inspector, a convict falling under a spell. It was all he could do to keep from clawing his way through Javert's shirtsleeves to get at the hard body he knew was beneath. Javert seemed to be rapidly loosing his carefully schooled control, and they both knew it.

The next time they broke apart for breath both men were panting. Valjean tugged gently on the wrist he was cuffed with, glowering. "Javert, take it off." A steely-eyed look was the return, and handcuffs were grudgingly removed.

From the Inspector, at least.

Jean Valjean found himself suddenly handcuffed to one of the bedposts, and writhed, trying to get away. "Javert!" He yelled, surprised, and unable to use either hand. How Javert had handcuffed both his hands to a bedpost with one pair of handcuffs he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Probably some policeman trick of the trade. "Let me go this very instant!" His voice was starting to become shrill, but he quieted at the sight before him.

Inspector Javert of the Paris police was stripping.

His vest came off first, tossed carelessly off the bed and onto the floor, followed by his shirt, which he tugged easily over his head, giving his prisoner a very good view of his chest.

Well, for the amount of time he had been on the police force, it was obvious that he would be in good shape. Valjean shuddered as he looked over the leanly muscled chest and arms, the exact opposite of his stocky build. Javert was like a cat, both in personality and build. Long and lean lines, sharp and straight, made up his physique. His dark skin glowed in the moonlight, and a multitudes of scars covered his chest and arms, not a few of which Valjean remembered giving Javert himself. He swallowed, tugged against the constraints more, and bucked his hips in an attempt to get some leverage to be free of the blasted handcuffs.

That was a bad idea, as it soon turned out.

Both men groaned, Javert's eyes falling closed, as their groins touched. Valjean whimpered, he had not been expecting that. That had been sudden. He looked up at Javert, and saw that the Inspector was trembling, his body under strain from clearly wanting to grab the convict's hips and grind until they both reached climax. But he did not. Instead he leaned forward, his large hands undoing each button on the other man's vest, until the cloth fell back, followed shortly by his shirt. Valjean sucked in a breath, his chest open to the air.

Javert smirked softly, the expression making the ex-convict shudder, his brown eyes wide. Valjean knew what was coming next, he had always known that it would happen eventually. The Inspector's steely eyes stopped their view of the well-muscled chest before them as they came to a rest on the number tattooed onto his chest.

_24, 601._

Javert skipped it, pretended it was not there, and grabbed Valjean's lips in a kiss that was somewhat tremulous, but fully passionate. He knew what he wanted. They both did.

"Javert..." The name was unbidden, but it was needed. The Inspector grunted, pushing off his pants in a move that the older man was almost sure was impossible. but there it was. Valjean swallowed when he at last saw the Inspector's lower half, the same lean-muscled legs that tapered down to where they vanished into the bed...and then upward, where they joined together in a covered area that...Valjean groaned, arching his back and bucking his hips against that stiff member in the other man's pants, Javert's response a choked-back gasp of need. He grabbed Valjean roughly, dragging their mouths together into a fiery kiss that sent both of them trembling. Who knew how long this had been building--perhaps more than the two decades they had known each other, perhaps just the day that Javert had set out to capture Valjean. It was time it all came to fruition.

Valjan's pants came off in the space of a breath. In the space of another, bare skin was pressing against bare skin, sweat making their bodies stick as the older man clawed fruitlessly at the bedpost he was cuffed to, Javert breathing softly against the skin of the convict's neck, face tickled by a well-trimmed beard.

There were muscles there, made thick and strong from years in the quarries at Toulon, before that as a pruner, and since then being on the run. For a man aging, Valjean was in very good physical condition, and often his strength was what allowed the Inspector to pick him out from a crowd. But now, all his muscles were useless. Handcuffed to a bedpost, underneath a larger man, and writhing in pleasure.

"Javert..." He groaned, bucking his hips, precious friction his reward. Javert groaned, large hands fisting in the sheets as his mask slipped down. The Inspector and the Convict, the Hunter and the Hunted. It was almost preordained. "Javert, please!" In the back of his mind, Valjean marveled at the fact that he would ever be begging the other man to anything. Javert looked up, gray-green eyes glowing with lust. He tangled a hand in the loose brown locks of the other, fisting there in order to pull them both into a passionate kiss that said more than words ever could. Valjean, for his part, simply kissed the other man back and pulled helplessly at his constraints. He was trapped, but that was beginning to not look like such a bad thing.

"Valjean..." The breath was soft against his cheek, ruffling the convict's brown beard and some of his graying hair. "Either we stop now...or we let this go somewhere..." he swallowed "Somewhere I am sure we can never return to." It was a truth. A naked and bare truth, but a truth. Javert was right. They could stop this now and pretend it never happened, but that would leave feelings lingering that were best removed.

"Javert, we have to fall." Valjean replied, his chocolate brown eyes connecting with gray. Emotions were raging in both their eyes, half of those emotions impossible to name. "We have no choice in the matter." Their voices were both husky with arousal. The older man smiled softly. "But if we are to fall...I would want to fall with you."

It was unspoken, but underneath their enmity, they were truly close friends.

Javert was silent, he said nothing, simply watched Valjean. Finally, he hung his head, blonde and gray mane slipping over the muscled stomach of the man below him, tickling Valjean in a way not unwanted. His chest was heaving as he held himself back, his mind spinning.

"Valjean, why are we like this?" For a moment, both men were silent while they pondered that question, and at last the convict thought he had an answer.

"Because it should be so." Gray eyes once more met brown, questions hurtling through both depths like so many birds in flight, but eventually settled.

"Then it should be so." That was final, when coming from Javert. He leaned forward, face nuzzling the side of Valjean's neck as he breathed in the other's smell, and the older man leaned his head to give him more room, especially when teeth began to nip at the pulse thudding beneath the skin there, drawing another moan out of the ex-convict.

_"Javert, I want to fall."_ He whispered, and it was all he had to say. The handcuffs came undone, and instantly Valjean's hands were onto the Inspector's back, bracing there, pulling the younger man into another burning kiss, searing fire through both their souls. Valjean felt his entrance being pressed on by something deceptively small, but when it entered him he arched his back, groaning in pain. He knew it was just a finger, but it hurt. So much. "J-Jav...Javert..." His voice trembled, his strong hands clawing at the other's back.

"Relax." The Inspector softly said, his free hand rubbing the older man's side soothingly. If nothing, Javert was a creature of opposites. One moment he could be ready to kill Valjean and the next he was soothing him while they prepared to become one. Distracted from the initial pain by the sudden change in the other man, he gasped as a second finger was inserted inside him, but then...Javert touched something.

Moaning out loud, Valjean wriggled, wanting to have that place pressed again. Just again...one more time, oh god...Javert scissored his fingers and brushed that spot again, sending the older man writhing against the bedclothes, his erection throbbing. He wanted release, and each time that spot was pressed...

the fingers left the warm embrace of Valjean, and the Inspector leaned down to press a kiss onto waiting lips as he thrust his hips, and himself, into his newfound lover. The older man stiffened, grunting in pain at the intrusion, one hand fisting in Javert's loose mane and the other clawing at the sheets. Above him, he could hear Javert groaning, his breath coming in gasps as he held back. It amazed the convict that a man, who would usually have given about as much thought to any pain of Valjean's as he did to tying back his hair, but in this case was holding him lovingly and whispering nonsense, soothing breath on the side of the elder's neck, his sideburns brushing Valjean's hyper-sensitive skin and sending a tingle up his spine.

At last, at last, he was ready. "Javert," Valjean gasped, moving the hand on the sheets onto the larger man's back, attaching to the broad shoulders like they were his only link with life, and then he felt a thrust and his mind reeled.

The Inspector was propping himself up with one arm, the other curled around his prey's neck, pulling him into a kiss. Names flashed between them as their lovemaking increased in fervor, until at last Javert felt a rippling in the pit of his stomach.

"Jean!" He growled, hips shuddering into thrusts that were just twitches as he buried himself hilt deep in the smaller man, his blonde hair falling into his face. He stiffened as he reached his climax, while beneath him Valjean had a moment to ponder the first time that he had ever heard the younger man say his first name and then the Inspector's frantic thrusts hit his spot perfectly, and the elder man felt his whole world white out, his mind blanking.

"Javert..." The name passed his lips softly, the whisper a link to life. The two men stiffened, their whole worlds nothing more than each other, the grip of their arms and their bodies and their breath, clenching and gasping.

Javert's arms collapsed, his large body dropping to rest on the smaller man. Valjean's breath started to even, his vision still white around the edges, and he rested his shaking hands on the broad back of the man who currently lay on top of him, breathing in a breath of fresh air. Air that smelled of their deed.

Minutes passed in silence, their joint breathing the only two sounds in the room, until at last the Inspector had his strength back and rolled over, staring almost sightlessly up at the ceiling. They had both been celibate for so long that this moment of coupling had been fast, but no less powerful for either one. The last time the Inspector had been with another in his bed had been at two decades before, before he even came to Toulon. Valjean did not truly remember the last time he had been with another in bed. Both had just broken their celibacy.

"Javert, scoot over." Valjean finally mumbled, and a grunt was his reply, although his request was quickly complied with. Sighing, the aging man flopped down beside his younger companion, his gray-brown hair pooling on the pillow, mixing with the long and tangled blonde strands of Javert's mane. Neither man could really understand what had just happened, but were content enough at the moment to just leave the issue for later. Once comfortably ensconced, Valjean sighed happily and lay his head on the broad shoulder beside him, his small but compact body fitting next to the long and wiry body perfectly. They were like two puzzle pieces cut from the same block. Javert sighed, and looked out the window, sleep and post-coital afterglow clouding his mind. "Go to sleep."

Well, when faced with Valjean giving him an ultimatum like that he was just going to go along with it.

The Inspector closed his eyes, sleep weighing them down, and wrapped his strong arms around the man next to him. It was all the two could do to bask in the afterglow.

"Tomorrow, Valjean, I arrest you. Remember."

"I remember." The ex-convict chuckled into the chest of the other man, his own body vibrating. "Tomorrow, you arrest me."

Satisfied that tomorrow their two decade rivalry would end, Javert closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, the warm body beside him comforting him, wrapping him in the very essence of Jean Valjean.

The older man stayed awake longer, carefully cradling the sleeping inspector, his heart thudding in his chest. He hated Javert for all the man had done to him, and yet...Valjean knew, deep inside his chest, that he loved Javert more than anything else in the world. Those words would never pass his lips, would never be shared. The events of before would likely never repeat themselves, but he knew once was enough. Their issues--that sexual tension--had been relieved. For now, at least.

With that thought in his mind, Valjean curled up against the broad chest of Inspector Javert, and fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he almost didn't want to move. But he knew he had to. So when Javert woke up and found his bedside companion gone, he could only blame himself for wanting him to be there. For more than one reason.

Everything had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, this is pretty much PWP. I will not lie. It is shameless PWP to get out my obsession. However, I try to keep it all in character and wonderful so that you all may enjoy it. :) However, starting after this chapter I am going to get this stuff betad, so you can enjoy the fruits of beta (thank you, BeBopAlua.). Until then, have fun reading my smut, and if anyone manages to suggest for a good plot for me to take with this instead of just satisfying my teenage fantasies has my deepest thanks, because I'm sucked dry. **

Inspector Javert of the Paris police cornered the fugitive in a back neighborhood of Paris. This time the old man was without that brat of a girl he had been lugging around for the past several years, so Javert was sure soon he could finally arrest the ex-convict, his prey.

"Javert, let me go." Valjean slowly said, pressing his hands to the other's chest, his brown eyes narrowed. In the three years since their last encounter, his brown hair had whitened significantly, now almost completely silver. By his calculations he was somewhere around fifty-two. Javert had aged, yes, lines around his eyes and mouth deeper than ever and gray strands streaking and making up more than half of the blonde mane. It made Valjean wonder, why a man ten years younger than he had hair so gray. The only part of his own hair to truly be mostly brown was his salt and pepper beard, matching Javert's gray-shot sideburns. "I have a daughter at home." The Inspector grimaced and pressed the older man harder against the wall, making him wince.

"That excuse has worked before, Valjean. But not this time." He was scowling. "This time I am arresting you. No talking me out of it. Not like last time."

"What about last time?" Valjean snapped back, attempting to shove the larger man off and almost succeeding, but Javert pressed all his weight onto the convict, and with his arms pinned to his chest there was nothing to do about the current situation. Brown eyes met green. "You mean the last time you tried to arrest me, and we ended up--" He was cut off by the dangerous look in the Inspector's eyes, a look he could not name. Could not or would not. Suddenly, the old man felt a chill deep in his bones, although it was a warm summer night. "Javert?" He began to ask, but was cut off by a bruising kiss shoved against his lips, his mouth still half-way open, his eyes widening in surprise. This was not a kiss of love or passion, but anger.

Javert let Valjean go abruptly, and he stumbled, catching himself on the wall and looking up at the Inspector in surprise. It was clear he too was surprised, two pairs of eyes in identical expressions of disbelief. Javert turned away, a blush lingering on his dark skin, eyes wide and hands trembling. Valjean slowly stood up, eyebrows pressed together as he leaned on the wall. Neither man said anything.

Valjean reached out a hand to grab Javert, but the Inspector stepped away, whole body shaking like a leaf. Their eyes connected for a moment, questions shot back and forth without a word ever being spoken. "Javert, what's wron--" Valjean began, but before he could finish the police officer righted himself and started to move away.

"I just--patrol--arrest--" He was cut off by hands on his collar dragging him over, a pair of deep brown eyes staring up into his own green ones. The old man was angry, a few loose locks of blonde flopping onto his face from the Inspector's mane. For a moment there was silence, and then the taller man felt his collar released.

"Arrest me tomorrow. You know where I live." Valjean said softly, hands dropping to his sides as he looked down toward the ground. It was so much more than an awkward moment. So much more. A turning point.

"Valjean--"

"Javert, just, please!" He looked up, and for a moment caught sight of an expression that looked as out of place on the Inspector's face as a fish out of water.

Was that...concern?

"Valjean," he began again, searching for words, grasping at straws. "I...I have patrol." He turned and strode out of the alleyway; purposeful steps replaced a stride leading to no place. Javert was lost. It was clear.

Jean Valjean had two choices. He could watch his captor and rival walk away, or...or he could call out. Stop him. Bring him back. It took only a split second of consideration for him to make a decision.

"Javert, wait!" He stopped, foot midair, hair haloing in the light from the streetlamp. Slowly he turned, unable to see anything in the shadowy recesses of the alleyway but a ghostly hand, extending from the darkness in entreaty. Slowly the old man stepped out, light glancing off of his silver hairs in metallic streaks. "Please. Tell me what's wrong." The response was a grimace and a wave of a hand in an unspecified direction.

"What's wrong? You want to know what is wrong, 24601? You can't guess?"

"Javert, don't do this."

"Don't do what? Arrest you, be angry? I have every right to be angry, convict!"

"Be impersonal with me!" Valjean yelled, moving his hand as if to brush aside the words of the other. "We know each other too well for that!"

"No, we don't." The voice was small. Too small for his bulk. Too small for Javert. His shoulders were slumped, something that shocked the old man. The Inspector was known for his imposing stature and perfect posture. He looked defeated, at least by his silhouette. "We don't, Valjean. We have known each other for twenty years, and what of it?"

"What of it, Javert? I trust you more than any--" Valjean cut himself off in horror, staring in a mixture of surprise at himself and surprise at his hunter, whose head snapped up, eyes wide, blonde hair flying up. "More an anyone." He finished softly, the words slipping unbidden from his lips like water.

"What" Javert whispered softly, confusion and fear the chief emotions in his voice. "You...what?" He stopped and shook his head violently, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand, shoving his police officer's baton under his arm. "No. I don't want to know. I have patrol." He turned again and continued out of the alley, but a hand on the back of his elbow made him stop. A soft touch that he could have broken away from without a second thought, but full of enough strength and powerful emotion that he did not.

Once more the Inspector turned. Once more Valjean looked up at him.

Once more they looked into each other's eyes and tried to find words.

"Valjean--"

"Ssh." He pressed a finger to the younger man's lips, brown eyes kind. "Javert, you don't have to say anything. In fact, I don't want you to." He sighed. "I just...please."

"Please what, Valjean?" Javert's voice was soft. He was just as confused as the elder man. "You keep saying that, but what does it mean?"

"What does anything mean?" Javert grabbed Valjean's shoulders in response, making his hair flutter in the wind, making them both jump. The streetlights were causing the nearby areas to be lit, but they were both in the dark. They were always in the dark about everything, it seemed.

"I want to know." The Inspector sighed, letting his hands drop to his sides, his eyes staring at the ground. "I want to know what we can do to be like...before."

"When before?"

Silence greeted the words, and the taller man once more looked imploringly at his prey, his mind blank. He could think of nothing else to say. His mind was blank. "Before." He at last said, voice defeated. Valjean felt his heart tightening, could feel emotions impossible to name and at last stretched up and pressed a soft kiss against the other's lips. He had apparently chosen correctly, because Javert dropped his baton and wrapped his arms tightly around the smaller man, holding onto him for dear life. They connected like two ships meeting in a storm, unable to let go, locked together.

Finally, lips parted with a wet smack. Breath evened. Eyes met.

"Valjean..." Javert swallowed, his throat dry. "Valjean, I," The convict silenced him by slamming their lips together in a kiss that made the Inspector forget what he was even thinking about saying. They stumbled backwards, attempting to move as one, until at last the old man felt his back thump against the wall of the alley, shadows making it almost impossible to see them unless you were looking close, and he tangled his hands in the hair of the younger, blonde and gray interwoven between his fingers.

"Javert, just be quiet." He said between kisses, gasping for breath as he clawed at the police uniform. "Be quiet and--" He cut off suddenly; brown eyes filled with lust, and looked up at Javert. Dark skin flushed, pants of breath, sweat appearing. His gypsy genes came out most when they were like this. He was beautiful. "Kiss me. Just be quiet and kiss me." A dark smirk that made tingles fly up Valjean's spine was what greeted the inquiry.

"I can do that." He grabbed Valjean's shoulders and the older man let out a soft 'yeep' that was so unlike him that those who knew him would have mistaken him for another, clawing desperately at the uniformed back of his hunter. Three years had passed since their last encounter, since their last coupling. Nothing had changed in those three years other than their ages except a need for each other. Two men, celibate for so long, suddenly found their passions once more awakened. For each other. Hands pawing at fabric seams, groans and gasps entwining, until at last they broke apart, panting.

"Three years is too long." Javert grated out, voice deep and gravelly. He grabbed Valjean's shoulders and spun him so that the ex-convict felt his chest pushed roughly against the brick wall, gasping at the texture, an unexpected turn of events. The Inspector had him trapped.

"Javert, not here!" He yelled, looking over his shoulder into unforgiving eyes. "What if somebody sees us?"

"Then they see." Was the growling reply, and then Valjean groaned as he felt lips on the back of his neck, sucking. He knew there would be a mark there in the morning, and hoped his long hair would be able to hide it. Cosette would question incessantly if there were anything wrong with his appearance, being a girl in the throes of woman-hood, and he wanted to avoid questions as much as possible. He had, of course, never told her the truth about why Javert had chased them across over half of France, but she knew that it was an old grudge. If he were hurt (in any way, even a passionate and superficial one) she would immediately latch on to it. And ask things he could not answer. "I couldn't care less." Valjean shivered at the younger man's words, totally unexpected from one so assured in his need for privacy. Even he, Jean Valjean, who had known Javert longer than any other did not know his first name.

After the first fifteen years, he had begun to doubt that he even had a first name.

"Javert..." He whispered, clawing at the unforgiving brick. A soft growl--a growl of ownership--was the Inspector's response as he ground their hips together, the erections in his pants straining against the smaller man's backside, making him shiver. Who knew that for men aging as they were that sex would be something that they easily got it up for. Then again, they were both celibate for long periods of time. Getting it up was easy once or twice every three years.

Hands hooked into the back of his pants, tugging them downward. This time there would be no love in their copulation, they both knew that. This time it was need that spurred them, need for love and for touch and each other. Perhaps there would never be any love between them. Last time had certainly been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment decision, but maybe someday that would change. Valjean felt gasping breaths behind his ear more than heard them, and bit his lip at the initial intrusion of the Inspector's finger, groaning in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he rocked his hips against the taller man. "Javert!" the name was his mantra, the name he repeated. "Javert, Javert!"

"What?" was the grunted reply, Javert had never been a man of many words. Especially not, as Valjean had divined, in the bedroom. Or, in this case, the wall.

"I want it." Valjean mumbled, rocking his hips more as he almost begged to be taken roughly against that wall. "Please, Javert!" The Inspector complied (a rare event, to be sure) and removed the finger he had recently had inside his old enemy and there was suddenly a much more substantial erection in its place. Valjean stiffened, biting his lip harder in order to keep back a whimper. It hurt just as much as the first time, that was for sure. The Inspector's strong hands held his hips so tightly that it could have been considered to hurt, but it instead brought only pure happiness. To know that a man such as Inspector Javert cared enough to hold onto you in his moment of weakness was the same as receiving a diamond from a street beggar. Finally, Valjean could stand to wait no longer and shoved his hips backward against the taller man.

"God you're tight." Javert mumbled, words softened due to the gray hair of his lover, his almost luminous green eyes closed as he savored the moment. "So tight." Valjean whimpered at the openness of his lover's words, trembling. Sometimes, Javert said things that he just could not believe. With that, the Inspector gave a harsh thrust and sent the ex-convict's head reeling, he grabbed the bricks of the wall and tried to find a handhold there. But there was nothing. He was helpless, trapped by Javert, the passion of the moment weakening his legs and making him rely entirely on the hope that he would not buckle.

"Javert--" Valjean began, but the soft rumble of a deep voice against the crook of his neck and the hands that had been on his hips sliding around to tug him tight against the iron-muscled body behind was enough to make him pause mid-whisper, and instead the old man moaned loudly when the first thrust hit home. The ex-convict finally found a grip, but this time it was the Inspector's shoulders, as he reached one hand behind him and dug his nails into the broad back there. A hiss was the response, followed by a jerky thrust that gleaned a whimper. Anyone who had seen these two men together would not believe their eyes over the different people they became. Jean Valjean, Ultime Fauchlevant, groaning and moaning like a woman in the throes of passion, Inspector Javert actually giving into the needs of his body and heart in what was almost sacrilegious for him.

The thrusts increased in fervor and Javert made a noise that struck Valjean to the marrow, a deep growl that could be constituted as a moan. The smaller man tensed, bucking his hips wildly as he tried to get some movement out of the other man. Javert was still, trembling against him, silent. Time seemed to stop, and all the energy that the world possessed was shoved into this single moment. Valjean whimpered, looking out the corner of his eyes at the face of the other man. Green eyes shimmered in the light of the streetlamp, emotions swirling there in the depths that were beyond words. He blinked as their gazes connected, and then Valjean screamed in pure ecstasy as the Inspector slammed his hips into place again, grunting softly.

Sweat made what skin they had showing stick together, noises rose into the night like a fog, a haze of love. Finally, finally, there was a deep coiling in Javert's chest and he groaned "Jean, oh Jean." and released into his lover, his whole body tensing. Valjean knew he would never hear his first name from the Inspector except during these precious moments, and savored each call of the name like a diamond in his hands. The ex-convict bit his bottom lip to stay silent and came as well, feeling the spatter of fluid across his pants and hitting the bricks from where his pants had been tugged too far down.

"Javert..."

They stilled, vision gone, no noise reaching either of their ears but their breathing, the only feeling in the world that of each other, the only smell their own unique scents. Finally, the arms around Valjean's waist went lax, and the taller man slumped down against his shoulder. Javert let out a slow breath, ruffling white hair, and relaxed. Momentarily, he let down all his shields, released all his barriers, and became nothing more than a child. Valjean, too, relaxed, leaning back against that warm embrace. Neither man wanted to move, content to remain forever in the arms of the other. In the post-coital glow, the two enemies were nothing more than the truest form of themselves—lovers.

Finally, Javert removed his hands from Valjean's waist and pulled out of his lover, making the old man gasp, fixing their pants and picking up his truncheon from where he had dropped it and his hat from where it had fallen to the ground, righted his appearance, and bowed away from where the ex-convict was slumped against the wall, his muscles alternatively tense form pain and relaxed from pleasure. The Inspector doffed his hat and bowed in the soft light of the lamp. "Monsieur." he whispered, and turned to walk away, the soft but even clip of his boot heels echoing through the alleyway. However, before he could get very far he stopped and turned back, his green eyes finding chocolate brown ones staring back. The men were silent, concentrating on each other, and then Javert lowered the truncheon and with two strides of his long legs caught Valjean up, the smaller man yielding to the comforting arms without a protest, wrapping his own arms around the bull neck, fingers tangling in a leonine mane.

Their lips met without a sound, with the feel of a thunderclap. They clung to each other as they would cling to the last rock in the flood, lips pressing roughly against each other. Valjean pulled on the dilapidated ribbon holding back the river of hair on the Inspector's head, gray streaked blonde falling around them as a curtain. They were caught in the throes of love, and only broke apart when they both needed breath.

Valjean pulled back his hands, pushing a mussed lock of white hair back behind his ear, brown eyes staring deeply into the Inspector's, and then leaned his head forward to rest it on the chest in front of him, sighing deeply. Javert trembled as he held the smaller man, thoughts echoing throughout his head.

"Javert, let go of this grudge—" Valjean began, swallowing around his hoarse voice, "And come live with me. You know better than anyone that I have done no wrong since I was released--" Javert pulled away suddenly, glaring darkly from under blonde brows, dark skin shadowed darker by lamplight.

"No, Valjean." He shook his head, loose mane flipping back and forth under his hat. "No. I can never let go of this. No matter how long you run or hide from me, 24601, I will be there. Never forget that." He turned away once more and walked from the darkness quickly, his pace faster than usual and making the cobblestones ring. As the urchins and thieves who had filled up the street heard the Inspector coming, they whispered 'Javert!' amongst themselves and ran willy-nilly in every direction.

Valjean watched Javert go, his heart pounding, and slid to the ground, put his head in his brick-bloodied hands, and cried.

Why did he care so? Why did he care that Javert would always walk away?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. I've been busy (and lazy) and I ALMOST stopped obsessing over Les Mis, but then I started reading the book again. So no worries. I've decided to answer yet another question about my portrayals of these two in this chapter. This time is the issue of top-and-bottom. I personally believe firmly that Javert would not be bottom. Mostly because he has issues about giving in to stuff. That, and I really just can't see it myself. Also, many thanks to Yukaido, who gave me the kick in the ass to get this done. I am a bad, bad writer and you may feel free to beat me upside the head with our favourite Inspector's baton.**

When Valjean walked into the room, Javert stared at him in a mixture of horror and dawning realization. Valjean stared back at Javert in a mixture of terror and stiff resolution. He walked over, spoke briefly to the blonde revolutionary leader, and then was given permission to take Javert. The ex-convict untied the Inspector, dragged him to his feet, and marched him out of the room. They were soon alone in an alley.

"Kill me, Valjean." Javert whispered softly. "You have the right." even now he used _vous_ instead of _tu_ to refer to his old enemy, even though they could hardly be called enemies anymore. "You've been waiting all your life."

"No." Valjean shook his head and pulled out a knife, slashing the bonds that tied Javert's hands together. "I will not." He pressed the knife into Javert's hands and placed his own hands on the Inspector's broad shoulders, his chocolate brown eyes staring into the unreadable green shards that stared forth from the Inspector's dark face. "Javert, leave."

"W...What?" The gypsy stared at him in horror. "What? You are..." _tu._ He said _tu._ Valjean felt his heart pound. He had admitted it to himself long ago that he loved the Inspector, yes, but they were never close. Javert shook his head, eyebrows pressed together in confusion. His hands dropped to his sides. "Letting me...go?"

"Javert, we have not been straight with each other." Valjean looked down, pushing his white hair back behind his ears. He was trembling while he tried to find the words he had to say. Coming out with this was possibly the hardest thing he had ever done. Lifting that cart was easy compared to outing his feelings. "Javert, I could never kill you." he finally finished, and felt the soft press of the Inspector's hand under his chin. The old man looked up into gray-green eyes, where for a moment there was a deep emotion swirling in the depths. There was pain there, horror, sadness. Love, maybe. Neither man said anything, simply stared at each other, and then Javert slowly leaned down and claimed Valjean's lips.

Gasping, he arched his back slightly, pressing against that hesitant kiss. There was a new beginning hiding there, a new path for them to take. Maybe if things had been different between them all along that new beginning would have been there from the start. Maybe, though, their relationship had to go through the frying pan and the fire first. They had lasted in one another's lives for so long showed that deep devotion to one another.

"Javert, go!" He whispered, pressing on the Inspector's chest. "Run, before they kill you. I'll shoot into the air, and you leave." Javert hesitated for a moment, watching both sides of the alley, and then stepped slowly away, his hand lingering on the others' chin. They did not want to break that contact. Both men stood still, and finally Javert took the next step. His hand slipped away from the slight contact with the convict's beard and chin, but he still hesitated to leave. There was something holding him back, making him wait and think before he ran off blindly. There was something holding the two of them together, something that was more than simple need. They had to get all their secrets out in the air, and at the same time neither one would admit to anything.

"No." He finally said, turning back. "I'm not leaving." Valjean, surprised, had opened his mouth with a retort on his lips before suddenly having any words he was about to say cut off by a pair of very demanding lips. Javert claimed the convict's mouth with passion, and pressed Valjean against the wall in an exact reverse of their previous position, growling hungrily. He was claiming the older man as his own. Dropping the knife to the street, forgotten, he wrapped one arm around Valjean's waist and reached up with the other to fist his hand in a clump of pure white hair. Valjean groaned as he felt the hand in his hair and arched his back up, pressing both his hands flat against Javert's chest, closing his eyes and allowing those strong arms to support his weight entirely.

All too soon it was over as Javert grunted and pulled away, leaving the knife.

"Javert, if I survive this...you will find me under the name of Fauchlevent at the rue de l'Homme-Armé. I am yours." He did not say it, but unspoken were the words _I always have been._ Javert stopped, took one last look at his enemy, and slowly nodded his head.

"I will be there, Valjean. And this time there is no escape."

They both knew it.

The Inspector left before he could change his mind, and the ex-convict stared after him until the retreating back could no longer be seen, then raised the pistol and fired the shot into the air, the noise ricocheting around the alleyway and echoing off of the building walls. He returned to the barricade, many things on his mind, and attempted to forget about the look he had seen for only a moment in Javert's eyes--the look of ownership. The look of the cat finally finding and catching its prey.

The barricade—later Valjean would think back to it and shake in terror at the force of memory. That long time locked in battle, watching men die. When he carried Maurius out through the sewers and brought him directly into Javert's clutches, when they had brought the boy home, when they both suddenly found themselves ousted from the house by the housekeeper and stood outside on the pavement. Javert looked at Valjean, as if to size him up, and slowly opened his hands.

"Any last requests before I take you in, 24601?"

"Yes." He didn't even need to think about it. The old man faced his hunter, opened his arms in invitation, and smiled softly. "Kiss me, Javert."

It was all he had to ask. The request was complied with quite quickly, and Valjean groaned as his lips were claimed with ownership and his arms were filled by the impressive bulk of Chief Inspector Javert. This time, he did not want to feel that weight gone from his arms. It had hurt too much before to feel him leave, but now that he was back—everything was perfect. Grabbing blindly at the wall behind them, Valjean backed up until he felt the rough bricks digging through the soaked and disgusting back of his shirt. The fact that the last time the two men had been together was on a brick wall much like this one did nothing to dampen the arousal already running rampant in his pants. Javert growled, drawing the older man more up into him. It was all that Valjean could do to simply stay upright, melting into the Inspectors arms. He whimpered, arching his back, and opened his mouth to suck in a breath of fresh air as the controlling lips that had formerly been pressed flush against his moved on, trailing up over the sensitive skin that was covered by the convict's beard, ending by his ear and biting there, eliciting a moan. Valjean was completely under his enemy's control, helpless to protect himself. If Javert had tried to arrest him then, he would have met no resistance.

But the gypsy was completely distracted by the body beneath his hands. He was completely distracted by the sensations. Strong fingers started grabbing at his cravat, pulling on it, until the white cloth came undone and fell to the ground, forgotten. Javert responded by breaking the kiss, pulling Valjean's sewer-soaked shirt over his head and discarding that as well. Not like he needed it at that point. Now the old man's back was against the wall, and what was a rough feeling that brought slight pain morphed into pleasure, and it all went straight down to his groin. Javert's hands were making a burning path down his chest, his lips fire against the convict's pale skin.

"Javert!" Valjean gasped the other man's name, and felt large hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants, and then the tight cloth was gone and the open but heated air was sweeping across his newly revealed member. The Inspector, impatient and aroused, palmed the convict's erection and gave a few harsh jerks, leaving his lover panting. It was all Valjean could do to stay standing, he was bucking his hips jerkily against Javert, who relented and gave more tugging friction with one hand while the other worked off his own pants, shucking them down as far as he needed, and then releasing the others' member.

"Valjean—do you need—"

"No." He gasped, bucking his hips. "Just do it, Javert!" It was amazing to him that he was still at all able to get out a string of words. All that he wanted, all that he needed, was the feel of becoming one. Love had turned to lust, anger to need, hate to devotion. It was only in these moments, together, minus all walls. Here, here, they were not the hunter and the hunted. They were simply Valjean and Javert. One without the other was not themselves. Their fates were intertwined beyond any efforts they both gave to break free.

The order or request, whichever it was, did not go unheeded.

Grunting in exertion, Javert lifted Valjean up off of the ground, and the older man locked his legs around his lover's waist in order to support himself, hands scrabbling furiously at the brick wall before he remembered that Javert's shoulders made for a better grip, and clenching his hands there. Breath hissing out from between his teeth, the Inspector pressed their hips together and eased his hips upward, the blunt head of his erection pressing against the others' entrance. Valjean groaned, trembling, and felt the first initial push. Gasping in pain, brown eyes flying open, he arched his back roughly against the wall and bit down on his lip—hard. The scream of pain that had been ripping out of his throat was pushed down and silenced by the feel of lips against his.

"I'm sorry." Javert whispered hoarsely.

Had he just apologized to Valjean?

"No. Don't be." He whimpered back, tensed. "Just—give me a moment, Javert." A soft hum was the response, and the Inspector wrapped his arms around the smaller man, holding him. Javert knew how much pain his companion had to currently be in, and no matter how much patience he usually had...it took all his considerable self-control to keep from thrusting up into the heat of his lover, to allow him time to adjust. After what seemed like an eternity he felt the grip around his arousal lessen, and the soft moan that meant he could continue.

"Yessssss." The word fell from his lips, forgotten, as Javert slammed against Valjean, who moaned loudly, bucking his hips. Soon they were rocking against each other, gasping moans entwining in the crisp night air. The convict tried to keep their pace slow, as if they were enjoying their first time as lovers. But before too long a deep growl vibrated against his neck; and suddenly the Inspector was slamming into him with a furious pace, hitting a place that made Valjean's head spin and moans coalesce in his throat and rip into the night air. The elder man held onto his lover's broad, cloth covered shoulders, groaning. He clenched his legs tighter around Javert's waist, knowing that slipping downward at that moment would not end well. The stress from earlier at the barricades was still pumping through them, the adrenaline rush was still there. It did not take long to reach completion, Valjean gasping, his nails digging through heavy police-issue uniform cloth to leave what would most certainly be bruises later, and his back arching up off the wall.

"Javert!" Valjean's voice was hoarse as he shuddered, wracked by pleasure. The younger man stiffened moments later, the tight heat of his lover too much, and Javert, too, hit his climax.

"Jean..." the name hissed out between his teeth, and in response a hand fisted into his gray-blonde hair, pulling on the strands until their mouths met. Valjean didn't want to let go, not after this long. This time, he wasn't going to let Javert walk away.

The Inspector slowly lowered the older man back to the ground, and they each righted their clothes as quickly as they could, Valjean taking care to not let their mouths part more than was necessary. But suddenly Javert took a step back, gasping, his green eyes wide. They were still dark with lust, but there was terror there in the depths.

"Javert, my daughter." Valjean at last gasped, running a hand through his mussed white hair. There was a scrape on his back from the bricks, and it stung. "I have...to tell her where I'm going. Or at least, tell her about Marius." Javert stood there, his large form as tense as a bowstring, his eyes wide like a deer about to get run down by a carriage. Valjean noticed too late.

"I will meet you at the police station," the taller man finally choked out. He could not believe he was trusting Valjean that much. But...he had things on his mind, things that were almost impossible to ignore any longer. "Be there by midnight." his throat was constricted, words impossible to say. He couldn't stay there. Just couldn't. Javert added the last bit upon second thought, and then turned and sprinted down the street, his boots sending up a clatter from the cobblestones that echoed down the street. The ex-convict felt tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, his heart clenching in pain. Would he never be allowed to stay with Javert afterward? Would there never be anything between them but this? Would the Inspector constantly run away?

Clenching his teeth, the old man wiped the first few tears off of his face. Time was of the essence now, he had to hurry, he knew that. Anything that he and the Inspector had to discuss could wait. For now, he had to speak to Cosette. Valjean stared once more after his companion in confusion, took one look back towards the house where they had left Marius, and then slowly walked off in the direction of his own home to speak to Cosette.

Halfway there, though, the weight that was dragging on his feet became too much. Stopping under a streetlight, Valjean stared off in the direction that Javert had run. It had hurt, been a knife in his heart when he watched the younger man run, but what had it been that had made him run so? Javert had acted like all the hounds of hell were on his heels. He had barely been able to speak to Valjean. He looked like the dead.

What had caused that?

The answer hit Jean Valjean quickly and left him reeling. How could he not have seen the obvious signs? How could he not have known? Javert had been following him for over twenty years, and not once in that long time had he paused, even once, in his administration of justice. And yet, earlier he had listened to Valjean's requests. And then the way that Javert had acted, running, scared, terrified. He seemed to hate himself for touching Valjean, and at the same time couldn't keep them apart. The old convict knew what his friend, enemy, and lover was about to do.

Javert could no longer see a straight way ahead. He no longer saw the right way to justice. So he was going to do the only thing he knew _how_ to do, in a situation like that.

It took Jean Valjean only seconds to figure out which way it was to the river.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, this certainly took a long time to get finished! Originally this project was just going to be the single chapter and ended up spiraling out of my control, but that's the muse for you. I'm glad that you all enjoyed reading this and I thank all of those who reviewed very much for their review. They make my day, they really do! I also would like to thank those of you who happened to inspire me to work on this final chapter during finals and Midsummer and for making me get it done. This is the final chapter, there will NOT be another chapter in this story. However, I am working on another story centering around these two taking place in the modern era, although I doubt I'll actually start on it until the school year begins. Until then expect a few random oneshots while I re-read the book, and enjoy this final chapter!**

Jean Valjean started to run. Run faster than he had ever run, faster than he had ever needed to run in his entire life. Even that awful night when Javert had stalked him and Cosette around all of Paris he hadn't run this fast, but then again, he hadn't been nearly as worried that time. His heart was pounding in his ears as he thundered down the streets, paying no heed at the angry shouts of those who had been sleeping when he passed their houses and he had woken up.

Time seemed to slow down and speed up at irregular intervals. As Valjean sprinted down one street toward the river time would slow until it felt like he was barely moving at all, but then he would turn a corner and time would speed back up and his heart would be hammering in his chest. It was all together too far to the banks of the river, and he might have gotten the wrong area or the wrong bridge or a thousand other variables that could turn out any way but all that really mattered, all that he could think about, was that if Javert vanished, he had no reason left to live.

What sort of reason could there be, without Javert? The younger man was his everything. For more than twenty years, they had given thought to nothing but each other, and now that he was about to lose the inspector he was terrified.

Skidding around a corner and laying terrified brown eyes on the river that finally came into his sight line, the ex-convict's eyes were drawn to a black silhouette on top of a nearby bridge.

"Javert!" The scream ripped forth from his throat at the exact same moment that his feet started to pound on the ground again and the distance between the two men became smaller and smaller. Just as Valjean reached the bridge and ran toward the inspector, holding out his hand in entreaty and prayer and the simple desire to not watch his best friend and his worst enemy jump into the Seine, Javert looked over.

Their eyes connected, and time froze. They simply looked at each other, not saying a word, over the twenty or thirty feet of bridge that separated them. Javert opened his mouth as if to say something, but then his hand where it had been holding onto a lamppost slipped, and time sped up again.

The tall form of the gypsy toppled forward, falling inexorably downward with the force of gravity. Another scream ripped from Valjean's throat, but this time it wasn't articulate, it was simply a scream. He propelled himself with the last of his strength to the railing and threw his hand over the side, and felt another hand settle around it. Javert hung, fifty feet above the rushing rapids below, and stared up at his prey.

"So you figured it out." He finally said. Valjean nodded.

"Javert, why...why would you do this?" The inspector looked the convict in his eyes, more pain in those green depths than Javert would ever feel comfortable articulating, and finally he spoke.

"Because things are better off without me." The hand in Valjean's went lax, and the older man scrambled, tried to hold on, and just barely caught Javert before he plunged into the water. One hand was his lifeline on the railing, the other his lifeline with Javert. Silence hung in the summer air, and their hands slipped further and further apart, and Valjean could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks but could do nothing to stop them.

"Goodbye, Jean."

Their hands separated, and Jean Valjean watched in unabashed terror as the person he cared about most in the entire world hit the rough water of the Seine and vanished under the waves. A slight splash was all that came up, and he didn't move—the one hand outstretched, grasping for something that was no longer there, his head spinning as his heart broke into one thousand pieces. His mind grasped for the idea that Javert was gone, irrevocably gone, dead and in the water below but couldn't believe it.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed.

Time stretched on.

At last, Valjean gave up hope and collapsed against the railing on the bridge, his body wracked with sobs as he tried to control himself, dry heaves making him shake. It was all setting in and making sense now, how everything had happened. He couldn't or wouldn't believe it, but the part of his brain that was still making some sort of sense was stating that, quite obviously, Javert was dead. He had drowned in the Seine. It was all over. When at last Valjean managed to get ahold of himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest and took a deep breath before standing shakily up and making the long walk back to his house. Each step was a thunderclap to him, each breath hurt more than he could ever say.

When he reached his house, he didn't even say anything to Cosette. He simply lay down and closed his eyes and prayed to never move again.

Months passed. Cosette and Marius got married, and Valjean told Marius the truth. Valjean stopped seeing Cosette.

Jean Valjean got very, very sick.

He was laying on his death bed, shallow breaths echoing in and out of his lungs. Beside him knelt the angelic form of his daughter, his perfect Cosette. He was too far gone then to hear what she was saying, although he could see by the look on her face that it was the words 'papa, papa' over and over again as she clutched at his hand as if the very feeling of her hand could tie him to life. He had never told her of Javert's death, could never bring himself. His heart was already broken and shattered, there was no need to tear it even more asunder. He wanted to die at least somewhat happy, knowing that Cosette was by his side. Slowly, Valjean's breath began to peter out and he let his eyes fall shut, knowing death was just around the corner.

Quiet, peaceful death. In death, he would be able to see Javert again. That was all he wanted.

In the haze of his final moments, the door to the room banged open and Cosette screamed. The noise catapulted Valjean back into life and he looked up in surprise to see who had barged in and his eyes connected with—

Nothing. He had imagined it all. It was simply his mind playing tricks on him. The doctor heard the death rattle, knew that the final moments were near, and turned away. Cosette was still crying, Marius still had his hand on her shoulder, and Jean Valjean died. It was painless as he slipped away. Absolutely painless.

Because now, he could be with Javert again.

**THE END.**


End file.
